by B Latif
“But, Henry, we were together.” Rose argued.
The men narrowed their eyes at Henry as if he had committed a crime and was hiding it now.
“Rose, just let me handle this,” Henry walked over to Paul with his boot in his hand. He stood by him and growled under his breath, “Shut up, she doesn’t know anything.”
“Anything?” Daniel was bewildered.
Henry’s expression was enough for him. They all stared at Rose and she shrugged.
“See?” Henry corroborated, “She’s as ignorant about everything as a wee baby.”
“How long have you been here?” Alex asked her.
“As long as I can remember… both me and Mama.”
Henry made himself busy wiping his boots again and Rose remained silent. When the silence and men’s stares became uncomfortable, Rose looked at the tents.
‘Nice homes,” Rose praised, “but very small. My home is big. Very big…. Thousands of yours combined.”
They started laughing again and Rose blushed.
Henry dropped the boot and said to Rose, “Come on, Rose. I think you should go home. Your mother will be getting worried.”
“What?” Rose was lost for a second, she seemed hurt from their behavior, “Oh, yes.”
“I’ll see her off,” he told the others who giggled in response like teenagers.
“Shut up,” his admonishing whisper quieted them.
As soon as Rose and Henry were out of earshot, she asked hesitantly, “Why did they laugh at me?”
“No. They weren’t laughing at you. Actually, Rose, they’re not our homes. Our homes are far away from here. We’re just visiting here.”
“Oh, and why did they laugh when I talked about names?”
“Well,” Henry chuckled, “The names you suggested are given to girls. We are men. By the way, what name would you suggest for me?”
He stopped, looking at her. Rose had no color on her face except her cheeks had begun to turn red.
Her rumination didn’t last long, “I think Henry is the best name.”
He smiled slightly and started walking again.
“You slept with me that night, why did you say we didn’t?” Rose asked as he followed him.
Henry stopped again.
He didn’t look back at her this time, but was in deep thought, trying to justify his answer… As if he were procrastinating the inevitable.
“Umm, Rose.” He paused and looked back with a slight frown.
“Yes?”
“You don’t know what he meant?” Henry dared tentatively.
Rose laughed slightly, “Of course I do! He asked if we were in bed together, right? Weren’t we? What is there to hide about it? Mama and I also sleep together. Always. She kisses me goodnight on my forehead, right here.”
She touched the middle of Henry’s forehead with her forefinger and looked in his eyes, her smile fading.
His eyes reflected nothing.
Rose kept staring at him while Henry, with his arms folded against his chest, kept staring at her.
“I’ve decided you don’t need to know anything,” he finally spoke in a reserved tone, “At least there will be one twenty-year-old girl oblivious to the shame humans have created in this world. And please remove your finger, Rose.”
“Oh.” She muttered, realizing suddenly she had her finger and eyes on Henry Cavills.
“And stop staring at me or I’ll eat you up.”
She popped her eyes wide open and said after some seconds, “I’ll go now…”
She walked away, and after she had gone several steps, she stopped and looked back once. Henry was marching away too, in his high, brown leather boots, the dagger tucked in his belt at his back and muscular arms at both sides of his body.
Rose watched his gait, which was as handsome as he was. He was far away when something made him stop and glance back.
He scrutinized the look Rose had in her eyes.
The stare.
“Do you want me to come back and eat you?” he asked, loud and clear.
Hearing this, Rose opened her mouth to argue, but then digested the words and walked as fast as she could to her home.
***
“What took you so long?” I asked, as soon as she was back, pretending I was unaware of their conversation.
As was her tradition, Rose hugged me tightly.
“I got lost, Mama!”
“How many times do I have to tell you, don’t go wandering deep in the forest?” I said, trying to reprimand her.
“But,” she released me and said excitedly, “Henry found me in a cave and now I’m back!”
There was silence. I didn’t want to talk about Henry or humans, so I changed the topic.
“Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving,” she replied, talking an apple from the basket and nibbling on it, “aren’t you going to work tonight?”
“No.” I smiled, as we laid down to sleep on the best bed that the Lord created: a bed of grass.
Rose put her head on my outstretched arm, and we watched the constellations.
I kissed her forehead right on the spot she had mapped on Henry’s forehead and she said, “Do it again.”
I kissed her again and she embraced me, falling into a deep sleep like a child.
***
Sometimes, I encounter humans who are almost impossible to forget.
Because I learn lessons from them. Lessons they haven’t learnt from their own lives.
I call them wise, because they spend their entire lives chasing their dreams, all wise humans do that and never give up. It is a myth among them that you get there in the end.
You don’t.
You might get there, but not at the end. Actually, you leave behind in the end because I meet you then and make you leave everything. I make you leave the world.
Eric Scofield was one of those wise men. Beaten by old age, he was eighty-five when I met him. I can remember him drinking champagne in his grand room, his whole body mapped with veins, his hair white as snow, and the beauty of his face long gone.
Director, producer, internationally famous, and one of the most highly-paid actors.
He was pouring wine in his glass when I appeared in his room. As he turned around, taking a sip, his eyes fell on me. I noticed his eyes had no color and weren’t reflecting anything.
He smiled at me for a second.
I remained quiet.
“I’m not signing up for any film for now,” Eric’s hand shivered, Parkinson’s I presumed. He sat on his rocking chair, drinking.
I walked towards him.
“Eric Scofield,” I said, not trying to terrify the old man, “You are going to sign up to the last film of your life.”
His face didn’t turn up, only his eyes did. He was about to take a sip when he changed his mind and spoke.
“Sit down,” he said seriously. Despite the fact I didn’t want to, I still did.
It was Norway and the snow that cloaked every gable reminded me of that snowy day when I had adopted Rose.
“Would you like to have some?”
I turned my eyes away from the window and looked at him. he was offering me wine.
“I only drink the sweetest wine,” I replied.
“Oh yes, and what is that, young lady?” he was very polite.
I locked my eyes on his old ones, “Water.”
My word made him leave the sip he was going to take and brush his chin on his shoulder as he lowered the glass. He remained silent.
“You are an old fellow, Eric,” I broke in after a long pause, “and alone. Your eyes tell me nothing except you are traveling in the past, which is futile.”
I don’t know why I was talking to him on this occasion when I should be thinking about his funeral.
Eric smiled.
It was a sad smile.
“Am I not allowed to travel in the past before dying?”
I was surprised, “So you have figured out that I have come to tak
e you?”
He looked at me, “Dear Death, why are you surprised? Eighty-five years of living makes you read faces with a single look.”
Silence again. our conversation was more silent than audible. Dear Death, was an odd salutation for me.
a) First time a human called me dear.
b) First time a human called me Death.
c) First time a human looked completely normal before dying.
Mostly, humans turn psycho, tempered, angry, terrified and in suicide cases, happy.
But this man, this old face, the satisfaction on his face, he was so calm, rocking back and forth while drinking wine with a wisp of the past in his colorless, glass-like eyes.
“It’s strange, Eric,” I began to elucidate, “I’m going to take you in the middle of your ‘nowhere near dying’ healthy life.”
No response. He was ignoring me.
Humans must respond, isn’t it in their nature? So, I continued, “Your fans will die to see you die. It will be a shock that you were found dead in the house, no disease, no heart attack or stroke, not poisoned, not in an accident, and not an injury on your body to lead you to me.”
The rocking stopped.
Eric looked at me, his eyes still transparent as the glass in the window and his skin turning white as the snow outside.
“If people could see the scars of words and taunts, I would be the most wounded person in the world,” he told me in a reserved voice, “and that, I think, led me to you, dear Death.”
He had led his life in pain, all amazing people do. I could sense it.
The muscle in his jaw twitched and then he took a sip again.
“I can see,” I told him, “despite all you have, you are still in pain.”
Eric sighed.
‘Oh…yes.” He confessed. “The thing more painful than starvation, disease, or death is to chase your dreams and never fulfill them.”
I didn’t understand. He had finished his wine and he got up slowly to get some more.
“But,” I began, “that was your past. Now you have everything.”
As he poured more in his glass, he said melodiously, “It is the past, dear Death… it is the past…”
He turned around and looked at me. he was in his night robes, having prepared himself for sleep. I wondered I he had imagined that night he was going to sleep forever.
“It is the past,” he sighed again, “while you chase your dreams, the past starts chasing you. If you find it, it is the past that haunts you and grins at you deviously at night… in loneliness…”
“Well,” I suggested, “you can just forget it then.”
It was simple, wasn’t it? Escape. Forget. Oblivion. Closing one’s eyes.
Eric walked slowly towards me. As he reached me, he stood with the glass in his hand and said in a haunted voice, ‘A human forgives, dear Death.
A hiatus, he stooped over me, his eyes fixed on mine and said the words as if they were the biggest lesson he had learnt, a secret he would only divulge to me.
“But a human never forgets.”
He nodded slightly and walked back to his rocking chair, relaxing on it once again. Was it so difficult to forget? I wondered.
And then I didn’t know what to ask but it just came out.
“Would you like to share some memories?”
Eric closed his eyes at this and said after a moment of anticipation, “I have a memory… of pain.”
I licked my lips slightly, then boldly asked, “Well. When does it hurt the most?”
He didn’t open his eyes as if feeling that memory again.
He opened his mouth as if to speak and shivered before proceeding, “When the light of hope begins to blind your eyes…”
I waited for him to continue, although his words were enough, I wanted more. More and more until I was satiated.
“You attempt to see the sun and dare to reach it. You look at it at dawn, the beginning of your journey and it seems beautiful. As morning approaches, you follow its trail. You are hopeful that you’ll reach it.
“But by noon, you get tired from the time it is taking, and by afternoon…”
The silvery tears began to glitter on his cheeks.
“By afternoon, the sunlight burns your eyes if you look at it directly… so that… you’re unable to see anything for some time… in the same way, the light of hope burns your eyes... after you get tired of waiting, for some time you’re unable to see anything around you. You become carefree.
“By sunset, you know your dream is leaving you, but you also know it is inevitable. You don’t stop looking at it because sunset appears beautiful too…. likewise, when hope starts to give you pain, you let go of your dream and become careless about what will happen when darkness prevails. And the departing dream… how beautiful it looks again at that time… to know how beautiful it would have been if you had achieved it… if only…”
The wine in his hand was long forgotten. Yes, humans are marvelous creatures of the Lord. To be a human meant to enter a pain zone without warning.
For the first time in my immortal life, I felt pity for humans. I tried to make him happy in the last moments of life, “Eric… look at you. You are successful…”
But my voice trailed off at his sardonic chuckle. I stared at him as he looked at me, and realized he wasn’t crying any more. He gestured with his hand, the one holding the glass, towards the room.
“This? This is not success.”
“Why?”
He smiled, “Because I earned it only to lose it to you.”
I construed it in my mind as the greatest failure of mankind. He continued in a whimpering voice that could make the children, teens, and young realize that life and all its luxuries were in vain.
“All this fame, these riches, this charm. I have earned it to lose it to you, dear Death.”
I smiled at my victory, “Old man… you are saying what humans earn is worthless. After all, he sells it to me. Loses it to me. He fails. Every human fails eventually.”
I was becoming wildly happy. I was victorious after all. Eventually, all men lose everything to me. How did it feel to let go of life?
“But, dear Death, you also don’t win.”
That made my expression change. Albeit, this man and his words were simple, yet rhetorical, my opinion was going to be changed by what he was about to say.
“Why?” I asked with a frown.
The rocking stopped, his face turned towards me, and his colorless, glassy eyes significantly implied something mocking.
“Don’t you lose it all to God?”
I was driven speechless.
Until now, it had always been an insult when humans drive me into a conversation in which I eventually lose the power of speech. Of course, these are rare occasions.
His head rested against the back of his chair, his glass still in his hand, as he began to watch the snow outside the window, which was falling like cotton balls.
In a deep, lamenting tone, which only I could hear, he began to hum. The chair started to rock back and forth, and his last words kept echoing in my ears. My glacial blue eyes remained fixed on the old man who had earned everything in life… and yet had nothing.
He sighed at the snow and then remained silent for a long time, without taking a sip or moving his eyes away.
You know why?
When the snow gets too cold, it begins to burn.
I knew he couldn’t see the snow outside. He was watching hell fire. The world should have shivered with fright at his words and his fate.
Chapter 10
OBSERVATION No. 20
The best things humans ever create comes from the worst kind of pain.
With a clench of my fist, the glass of wine fell, and it began to flow on the floor as if his wounds had started bleeding. His eyes remained fixed on the snow, and the rocking stopped, so did the dulcet tone.
What is this life, led in pain?
In the end, you realize it’s all in vain,
&
nbsp; Wealth and health, you have earned,
One day in hell they will be burned,
Proud you are of your fame,
In hell it will turn into just another flame,
All the people who are godless,
Consider yourself just a body: heartless
Pretty is the girl, you are chasing lust,
Beauty of nature, you should have learned as a must
What is life: it is a game,
Pity, dear human, you should have shame.
I sang it that night in the forest.
***
“Tell me,” Henry looked sternly at Rose, “Were you following me?”
Rose swallowed hard. She blinked and her thick eyelashes fluttered.
“No,” she replied innocently.
Henry took off his quiver and bow as if he were fed up with her.
“Then why do I come across you every time?” Henry asked derisively.
Rose shrugged, her book open in her hands, as she wrote something down. When she didn’t reply, Henry began to walk below the canopy, the dappled sunlight decorating the forest’s soil.
He put on his bow and quiver again, his chocolate brown leather boots leaving footprints in the moist soil, killing the leaves and saplings beneath them. After he pulled up his hood, he slipped his fist inside his pocket. It was getting cold and the hunt had been poor that day.
Henry stopped by the willow and slumped down, pulled out the berries from his pocket and started chewing them one by one.
There was a rustling and his ears caught it. Stopping his nibbling, he looked around cautiously.
Nothing.
He began to nibble again. This time, he heard the sound and his hand went to his bow. Nothing again.
When he heard the noise for the third time, he didn’t ignore it.
He sniffed, spit the chewed berry carelessly, and made his weapon ready. First, he looked right, then left, and then without making a sound he stepped cautiously toward the willow trunk again. His back brushed against it and as his feet sidled past it, he whirled around – and came face to face with Rose.
Rose’s jewel eyes were terrified, and Henry’s serious ones were angry. They stared at each other, this time, Henry’s jaw clenched.
“Following me?” he asked sternly.